Turn the Page
by Lyz
Summary: Begins where movie ends. A new girl in Alphabet City helps to flip the Bohemians' lives around. MarkOC, rating may change later. Chapter 9 up!
1. Peanut Butter and Stolen Vodka

Author's Note: I really don't like writing notes like this, but since it's the first chapter I feel like I should. This is my first Rent fic, and my only fic on So far I like it, and I hope I'm able to finish it before school gets hectic again, fingers crossed. Reviews are appreciated, even if they're negative.

Disclaimer: I own Paige and her family, but no one else. At least so far. Maybe later someone else I own will show up. Anyway, all the recognizable characters belong to other people. I hope you like it.

**December 24, 1990, 9 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige Kirkley lights candles as she unpacks. The power is out. Carefully she rummages through another box of photography equipment, searching for her camera. The sun had already set when she arrived at her new apartment in Alphabet City, and the power blew fifteen minutes later.

"What a shitty Christmas Eve," she murmurs to herself. Luckily she finds her camera in the dark, still intact despite the bumpy four hour trip from Syracuse.

One of the panes of glass from the fire escape window is broken, and through it she can hear distant sounds of traffic. She loads a roll of film for tomorrow and places the camera on the window sill. Next she grabs a bag of clean clothes and starts looking through it.

"Mark! Roger! Anyone-help!" a woman yells outside, much closer than all the other sounds. Curious, Paige picks up the camera and steps outside. On the ground she sees the woman who yelled, along with another woman who is holding yet another girl in her arms.

The fire escape rattles as someone runs onto it two stories up. Paige looks up and sees three men looking down at the women in the street. "Maureen?" one of them yells back.

"It's Mimi- I can't get her up the stairs," the first woman answers. Paige feels the metal shake again as the guys run back inside. She snaps a picture of the girls- Maureen, Mimi, and the one without a name. She takes another as the guys from upstairs help carry the unconscious girl inside.

Paige doesn't notice that the power is back on when she steps inside. She walks straight to the door and opens it a crack, watching silently as the strangers rush past. Upstairs she hears the thick metal door slide open and then close again.

Paige Kirkley closes her own door and says a silent prayer as she blows out the candles.

**December 25, 1990, 1 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

The apartment still looks bare, but Paige has finished unpacking. Most of her belongings are in the closet, which is now a dark room.

The only piece of furniture in the apartment is a worn-out couch with a missing leg, left behind by the previous tenant. With a stack of old books she manages to prop the corner up enough to sit on it without it wobbling. She sits on the couch and counts the money left after the move: thirty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents.

_It'll have to do_, she thinks, pocketing the money and pulling on her coat.

She nearly stumbles as she walks outside the building. A man with blond hair, a corduroy coat and a striped scarf is crouched on the steps, filming a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk. He nearly drops his camera, but manages to catch it and keep his balance.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. Are you ok?" she asks as she helps him up. He dusts off the knees of his pants and smiles at her.

"I'm fine, no harm done. I shouldn't have been standing there anyway." She recognizes him as one of the men on the fire escape the night before. "Are you new in the building?" he gestures to the door she has just walked through.

"Just got here yesterday," she answers, smiling.

He returns the smile. "Mark Cohen." He holds out a gloved hand, which she shakes.

"Paige Kirkley."

"So where did you move from, Paige?"

"Syracuse."

"Rich girl, huh?"

She laughs. "I wish."

"I guess if you were really rich you wouldn't be in Alphabet City."

"Hey Mark!" someone yells. Paige and Mark look up to see a man leaning out of a top story window. "Get your ass back up here!"

"My roommate, Roger," Mark explains. "I'd better go before he and his girlfriend destroy the place."

"Ok, well, maybe I'll see you around."

"That'd be great. See you later."

Paige turns to go as Mark pulls open the door. "Oh, hey Mark?" she asks, turning back.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know any stores that are open today?"

**2:16 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

After a trip to a twenty-four hour drugstore three blocks over, Paige returns with a bag containing a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a gallon of milk, and a box of cereal. She has spent twelve of her thirty-seven dollars. She tells herself that the rest will have to last a while.

Mark is sitting on the steps when she turns the corner, this time camera-less, staring in the opposite direction.

"Did they actually destroy the apartment?" she laughs. He looks up and smiles.

"You know, in general I'm really glad that they're dating, but there's only so much time I can stand to be in the same room with them. And I went over the limit a year ago." She sets down the groceries and sits next to him.

"Sucks to be the third wheel, doesn't it?"

"Sure does." He peers into the bag. "Planning on living on peanut butter for the next few days?"

"It's not exactly the Christmas dinner I've been dreaming of, but until I get a job or a rich relative dies it's all I have."

"You should've at least picked up some alcohol or something."

"They didn't have any at the drugstore."

Mark stands, picks up the bag and hands it to Paige. "Follow me," he says, stepping inside.

They walk the four flights of stairs, leaving Paige's groceries by her door along the way. "What are we doing?" Paige asks softly.

"A friend brought over some vodka last night--sort of a strange tradition--and we didn't finish it. I'm pretty sure that Roger and Mimi will be distracted enough that, if we're quiet, we can take it and leave before they notice," he explains. "The problem is opening the door quietly."

That problem, it seems, has already been taken care of when they reach the top of the stairs. The door is open just enough for a person to slip through.

"Did you leave the door open?" Paige whispers close to his ear.

He shakes his head and peeks through the opening. "I don't see them," he breathes. They slip silently through the door. Paige stops just inside while Mark tip-toes to the kitchen, where the bottle is sitting on the counter. Just as he picks it up a bedroom door creaks open, revealing a shirtless Roger.

Everyone freezes. "What the hell are you doing?" Roger asks.

"Run!" Mark yells, sprinting for the door and grabbing Paige's hand. He pulls her through and slams it shut in his roommate's face. They run downstairs to Paige's apartment. She locks the door behind them and leans against it to catch her breath.

Just as her breathing is about to return to normal, Paige begins to giggle. "Did you see his face?" she snickers.

She is still fighting back her laughter when Mark hands her a plastic cup of the stolen liquor. He grins. "Merry Christmas," he says, and he knocks his cup against hers.


	2. That Initial Taste

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. Everyone understand? Great. On to the story.

**December 25, 1990, 7:46 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

The bottle is empty. Neither Paige nor Mark is completely drunk, although both are on their way. They are sitting on the floor in front of the couch, leaning their heads back against it.

"This is the strangest Christmas," Paige giggles. A lock of her chin-length black hair falls slightly over her eye as she talks, and she makes no motion to move it. "Usually I spend it laughing while relatives drink, not laughing while I drink with a near-stranger."

"Near-stranger?" Mark raises an eyebrow although he's still smiling. "Is that all I'm worth? I got you that alcohol; I should at least be an acquaintance."

"What about an extremely new friend? Does that work for you?"

"Absolutely," he says. He raises his empty cup. "To extremely new friends."

Paige copies the motion. Both lift their cups to their mouths, but, seeing that they are out of alcohol, put them down again. "We need more booze," Paige says. Mark nods his agreement.

"We could look for more upstairs, but I doubt we'll find any."

"Might as well try."

They stand slowly and stumble out the door. "Race you!" Paige shouts. She is already running when Mark realizes what she said. She jumps the stairs two at a time, Mark trailing behind. She reaches the door breathing hard, but smiling. "I win."

"Not fair," he pants. "You had a head start."

The door slides open. "Roger was wondering if you were coming back," the man says to Mark, grinning. He turns to Paige. "And you've brought a friend. Collins, Tom Collins," he introduces himself and shakes Paige's hand.

"Paige Kirkley."

"Hey Mark, where's the booze?" an irritated-sounding Roger shouts from inside. Collins takes the empty bottle from Mark's hand and turns inside.

"He and his new friend drank it all," he laughs and holds it up for Roger to see. He pushes Mark and Paige inside and closes the door.

"You are so dead, Cohen," Roger grumbles.

Mimi laughs. "You weren't going to drink it anyway," she says and plants a short kiss on his mouth.

"Hey Mark, who's your new friend?" a girl asks from the couch.

"Oh sorry, this is Paige, she just moved in two floors down. Paige, this is Joanne, Maureen, Mimi, Roger, and Collins." Paige waves shyly at the group. She recognizes them all as the group outside last night.

_Mimi looks much better, _she thinks. She wonders what happened last night, but doesn't have the courage to ask.

She and Mark both sit on the floor by the coffee table. Mark is on her left, and Maureen is leaning against Joanne's legs on her right.

"When did you move in, Paige?" Maureen asks.

"Just last night actually."

"Oh really? Where from?"

"Syracuse."

"Syracuse?" Maureen repeats, smiling. "Why would you move here from a place like Syracuse?"

The grin on Paige's face fades slowly. The alcohol no longer has the same effect. The heaviness in her throat returns. The room seems darker.

"Um," she swallows and takes a deep breath before she continues. "My mother died."

Mark isn't smiling anymore either.

"She had a heart attack and died in the ambulance a few months ago." No one says a word, or even makes a sound. "My father died when I was seven, and my step-father and I don't get along well, so I thought it'd be good to get away."

"I'm so sorry, Paige," Maureen apologizes.

"It's ok, you didn't know. Anyway it's getting easier."

The room remains silent for a few more seconds. "I'm going to make some coffee. Does anyone else want some?" Mark asks weakly. He is answered by various murmurs and nodding of heads.

"I'll help," Paige offers, standing with him. The walk to the kitchen. Mark begins rummaging through cabinets for coffee and mugs. "I didn't mean to bring everyone down," she mumbles. "They were all having such a good time 'til I had to open my mouth."

"It's not your fault. Maureen asked, you just gave an honest answer."

She feels a little comfort from Mark's words, but is still worried that the rest of the night will be a reflection of that short conversation.

Coffee is quickly made and divided into mugs and other beverage containers that Mark could find in their sparse kitchen. Both he and Paige grab a few and attempt to return to the group without spilling. Just before they reach their destination, however, they are stopped by the whistles and cat-calls of those crowded on the couch.

Confusion is evident on both their faces. That is, until Collins points to something hanging about their heads. Paige shoots a quick glance upward to see a small bundle of mistletoe taped to the ceiling.

"Where did that come from?" Mark asks, still staring at the green plant.

"Collins brought it," Roger grins evilly.

"I knew it would come in handy," Collins chuckles.

Mark stops staring at the ceiling and glances at Paige, a blush forming on his cheeks. Paige can feel her own face begin to burn.

"Just get it over with," Maureen says loudly.

Very slowly they lean in closer. Paige can feel Mark's breath on her lips. _He smells like cinnamon, _she thinks vaguely as she closes he eyes. Soft lips press lightly against her own.

The kiss is not very long, but it is enough to earn more whistles and cat-calls, as well as more blushing. Paige spills a few drops of coffee before she regains her composure. Both their faces are beet red, but both are smiling.

**December 26, 1990, 1:26 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige left Mark and Roger's apartment two hours ago. She is now sitting on a ledge on the roof, looking at the world through the lens of her camera. There isn't much to see; most people are at home.

A couple walks down the road holding hands, dodging a parked taxi on the curb. Paige focuses on them and snaps a picture.

"I thought you went back to your apartment to sleep," Mark says behind her.

She jumps, startled. She hadn't heard him come up. "I did, but I couldn't sleep."

Mark sits down next to her and begins winding his own camera. "I didn't know you were a photographer," he smiles, gesturing to the bag of lenses and film on the ground.

She shrugs. "Just something I like doing. Though maybe I could find a job here." Mark finishes winding the camera. He holds it up to his eye and begins filming. "Is this what you do, make movies?" she asks.

"It's not a job at the moment, just something I do."

Paige lifts her camera to her eye and takes a picture of Mark as he continues to film her. She frowns slightly. "Did you know I was up here, or do you come up to film sometimes?"

"I couldn't sleep either, and I just felt like I should do something instead of lie around. Somehow I ended up here." The camera shuts off. He winds it again and resumes filming.

"I was thinking about you," she admits, looking past the camera at him. "I was hoping you would be awake, but I was too afraid to knock on the door."

The camera is still rolling, but Mark has dropped his arms.

Paige surprises even herself as she kisses him. At first his body stiffens against hers in shock, but he quickly relaxes and returns the kiss. Their mouths open slightly, both experiencing that blissful initial taste, both hungry for more.

The camera shuts off again just as they pull apart. Paige wonders what it will show when it's replayed.


	3. Drying Film, Crying Eyes

Author's Note: I've already said I don't like writing these, but I felt this situation required it. I don't know if anyone else has seen this, but there is a story up now called visions of radiant beauty by theLOSTCSIfreak. Parts of the story, mainly in chapter 2, seem really similar to stuff from my own story, and I think they might have stolen it from me. If anyone else has noticed this, I'd really appreciate some feedback on what I should do. I might just be imagining things. Anyway, if you read it and think I might be right, please let me know.

Disclaimer: Jonathon Larson created RENT, not me. The only things I can really claim are Paige and her family.

**December 31, 1990, 3:51 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige hears the muffled sound of a knock on the apartment door. It creaks open, and Mark's voice echoes through the empty living room. "Paige?" he calls.

"I'll be out in a minute," she answers. Her experienced fingers wind the film onto the reel in her hands despite the complete darkness, and she places it into a tank to be developed. She opens the closet-turned-dark-room door and grabs a bottle of developer on the way out.

"Hey there," she kisses him on the way to the kitchen sink. She pulls out an old measuring cup and begins pouring developer into it while letting the faucet run into the tank. "Aren't you supposed to be filming something today?" she calls over her shoulder. She shuts off the water and empties the tank.

Mark wraps an arm around her waist and places his chin on her shoulder. "The Life Support meeting was canceled, so I've come to film you." He wrinkles his nose at the smell of the chemical she is pouring. "What exactly is that stuff?"

"I'm developing a roll of film."

"It smells like rotten eggs." He sits on the counter next to her and pulls his camera out of his bag.

"I'll take that to mean you don't want to help." She sets a timer for eight minutes and inverts the now closed tank. She leaves it on the counter and looks under the sink for more chemicals and funnels.

"I'm better as a cameraman," he says. "I don't want to ruin your pictures."

"Suit yourself," she smiles.

Every few minutes she swirls the tank in her hands. When the timer sounds she empties it into the sink, replacing the developer with acid stop bath. Thirty seconds later she pours the chemical back into the bottle.

"Why did you pour that back in?" Mark asks, confused.

"This stuff doesn't get diluted after the first use like the developer, so it's cheaper to use it again."

Next she pours in something from the bottle labeled "fixer" and sets the timer for another eight minutes. The timer sounds again, and she empties the tank into the bottle and lets the water run into it and rinse it again. Another chemical called perma wash is added and then poured back into the bottle. She rinses the film again, but doesn't empty the water. To it she adds a few drops of photo-flo, lets the soak for a few seconds, and then pours the liquid into the sink.

She removes the reel and gently pulls off the dripping film. She wets a sponge and squeezes out the water, and slowly runs it along the film.

She holds the film up to the light to look at the pictures.

Mark films her as she checks the film and pins it on a clothesline to dry. He catches her complete concentration. Paige glances at Mark to see the same concentration as he winds his camera. She smiles.

"What happens now?" Mark asks.

"We wait until the film dries." She plops onto the couch.

Mark puts his camera back into his bag and sits down next to her. "How long will that take?"

"Half an hour."

They sit in comfortable silence. Paige leans her head against the back of the couch and closes her eyes. Mark takes her hand and squeezes her cold fingers. He glances at her sideways and asks, "How do you remember it all?"

"How do I remember what?" she asks without opening her eyes.

"All those different chemicals and times. How do you keep it all straight?"

She smiles, eyes still closes. "Lots of practice. I've been developing film since high school. After a while it's easy to remember."

The silence resumes. Mark lays his head next to hers. She can feel the warmth radiating off him. She opens her eyes slowly. Her green eyes stare into his blue ones. "Want to see something?" she asks timidly.

He nods. She stands, hand still clasped in his, and leads him into her bedroom. Under the disheveled bed is a faded shoebox.

She opens the box to reveal hundreds of black and white photographs. "You took all these?" he asks, somewhat amazed. She nods and pulls out a stack.

"I have a lot more, but these are my favorites," she says.

Mark looks through the ones she hands him. He sees faces filled with all kinds of emotion, from excited to distraught.

Paige points to one. It is a picture of a woman standing behind a man seated on a stool. Both are looking away from the camera; they don't seem to notice they are being photographed. Neither is smiling. They look as though they are concentrating on something in the distance.

"This is my mother and my step-father," she says quietly. "I took it a few weeks before she died."

She points to another. A young man stands at the top of a set of stairs, carrying a duffel bag and smiling. "That's my step-brother, Reuben. He left for Chicago that day. I haven't seen him since."

"How long ago was that?"

"Four months ago," she murmurs. Tears fill her eyes. "After he left and Mom died I had no reason to stay in Syracuse. All my real family was gone."

Mark puts the photographs back into the box and holds her tight.

Paige realizes again that her mother is gone. It feels like the wound in her heart has been re-opened.

But with Mark there, stoking her back and whispering into her ear, it doesn't hurt as badly.


	4. Absorbing the Warmth

Disclaimer: As much as I wish it were true, I don't own Mark or Roger or any other characters from the play/movie RENT. This isn't the happiest chapter, but at least it's something.

**December 31, 1990, 5:12 p.m. Eastern Standard Time**:

The film is dry. Paige cuts it into strips and selects one of them to enlarge.

Mark abandons his camera once he sees the lighting in the dark room. Even with the amber lights he can barely see. Paige has no problem finding the enlarger, and slips the negative into the machine. She flips it on and focuses the image onto an easel. She turns the enlarger off again and places a strip of paper on the easel.

"What are you doing?" Mark asks.

Paige holds a piece of cardboard over the paper, letting only a tiny bit of it show. She turns the enlarger on for two seconds, turns it off, and uncovers a little more of the paper. She repeats the process until the entire paper is uncovered. She holds up the paper. "This," she says, "is called a test strip. I use it so I know how long to expose the picture when I enlarge it."

She drops the paper into a tub of chemicals and waits until something appears on the paper. She moves it to another tub for a few seconds, pulls it out again, and then to a final chemical. A few minutes later she rinses it under water.

She flips the light on. Mark can finally see.

On the paper is a spectrum of light on one image. At one end the photo is too dark; on the other it is too light. In the middle it is perfect.

Paige flips the light off again, leaving Mark once again partially blind.

She fits another piece of paper, this time a whole one, into the easel. She sets the timer on the enlarger for six seconds and flips it on. When it shuts off again she removes the paper and develops it.

She opens the door to the dark room. Light floods in, stinging their eyes for a second. She clips the photo to the clothesline to dry.

Mark can see the picture clearly now. It is the one Paige took of the group helping Mimi inside. "When did you take this?" he asks.

"The night I moved in. I heard some yelling outside and saw you guys downstairs, so I took a picture." Mark is silent, thinking something over. "I'm sorry, I can get rid of it if it bothers you."

"No, don't do that, it's a good picture," he says. "It's just weird seeing it from this angle."

Another silence descends the room, but it isn't as comfortable as before. Paige's curiosity gets the better of her. "What happened to Mimi?" she blurts out.

Mark looks confused. Paige points to the picture. "Oh," he says uncomfortably. "Um…"

"You don't have to tell me," she stops him. "I shouldn't have asked."

Mark takes her hand and leads her to the couch. He sits and pulls her down with him. He stares at her hand, still clasped in his, while he tries to decide what to say. He takes a deep breath and looks up at her slowly.

"Mimi has AIDS," he says calmly.

Paige tries very hard to hide the sadness and shock of the words as they register in her mind.

"She and Roger had a fight, a long time ago," he continues. "Roger ended up going to Santa Fe for a while. Mimi had been in rehab for heroin, and she went back to the drugs. She stopped working, and ended up sleeping in Central Park."

Mark sighs. He takes Paige's free hand with his own, rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs.

"The night of that picture Joanne and Maureen found her in the park. She was freezing and sick, and they brought her back here. For a minute we all thought she'd died, but somehow she came back again. Like a miracle or something."

Paige is silent. She can't believe that Mimi, one of the strongest women she knows, could have AIDS. _How could she be so sick, and not show it now?_

"Collins and Roger have it too," Mark says, somewhat bitterly. "Angel had it; he died last Halloween."

Paige only knows Angel through Mark's film. She wonders if he was as afraid as she would be if she were dying.

"I'm so sorry," is all she can say.

**January 3, 1991, 11:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige is sitting on her couch, rubbing her hands together over her last candle. The power is out again, the second time this week. She has her coat on, as well as several long-sleeve shirts and two pairs of pants. She is still freezing.

The snow is piling up outside on the fire escape. It hasn't stopped snowing in two days. If she had heat, Paige would love the snow. At the moment she hates it.

She hears tapping on the window. Mimi is outside, shivering in her coat. Her heels slide a bit on the slick metal. She knocks again.

Paige opens the window and pulls her inside. Mimi continues to shiver. "It's just as cold in here as it is out there," she laughs. "I was going to go see if Roger and Mark would start a fire. Wanna come?"

"Anything to get warm," Paige says.

Together they climb the stairs, both praying that Mark and Roger have something they can burn.

The guys are way ahead of them, they find, as they open the window and step inside the much warmer room. Mark and Roger have collected a pile of paper, and are feeding it to the fire.

"What are you burning?" Mimi asks as she brushes against Roger's side and warms her hands over the flames.

"We've been saving junk mail for emergencies like this," he answers. He rubs her arms in an attempt to warm her up.

Paige stands next to Mark, letting the warmth seep into her frozen body. Mark throws the rest of the paper in his hands into the fire and wraps his arms around her. "Hello," he whispers into her ear. He kisses her lightly and places his forehead on hers. "Haven't seen you in a while. Been busy?"

She nods. "Trying to find a job," she says. "I'm out of money."

"Jobs are highly overrated," he purrs, kissing her again. She sighs contentedly against the kiss, enjoying the feel of his hands on the small of her back.

"Food is nice, though," she breathes when they come up for air. "I'm really getting sick of peanut butter."

Roger and Mimi have disappeared. Paige notices that Roger's bedroom door is closed. She doesn't want to think about what they're doing in there.

She sits on the couch and peels off her coat, her limbs slowly absorbing the warms. Mark grabs another handful from the stack of paper and throws it in. He sits next to her, and she leans against him. She watches the light from the flames dancing on the walls and ceiling. "This is nice," she sighs. He kisses the top of her head.

**January 4, 1991, 8:11 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige opens her eyes to find herself somewhere that is not her bed, with her head on top of something that is not her pillow. After a moment of confusion she realizes that the somewhere that is not her bed is actually Mark and Roger's couch, and the something under her head is Mark's collar bone. She notices that Mark has fallen asleep with his glasses on, and she gently removes them and places them on the table.

She hears some rattling in the kitchen. She peeks over the arm of the couch and sees Mimi's mess of hair searching through the cupboard for something.

During the night someone was kind enough to drape a blanket over Paige and Mark without waking them. Paige fingers the worn fabric, and nestles closer to Mark. She closes her eyes and sleeps again.


	5. Burned Fingers and More

Disclaimer: I can't claim any part RENT. I don't have the genius to create something like that.

**January 9, 1991, 6:10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige knocks lightly on the loft door before sliding it open. Roger is sitting in the armchair fiddling with his guitar, a slight frown on his face. "Hey," she greets him, ruffling his hair. He smiles as he bats her hand away. "Where's Mimi tonight?"

"Double shift," he answers. "But she gets tomorrow off."

"That's good," she says. "Is Mark around, or is he out somewhere?"

"He's editing," he nods his head toward Mark's closed door. Paige opens it slowly.

Mark is too caught up in his footage to notice the door opening, despite the light it lets into the otherwise dark room. Paige closes it again quickly and sneaks up behind to look over his shoulder.

The footage is from Christmas, that night up on the roof. Paige sees herself snapping photos with her own camera, and speaking words she cannot hear. The camera shakes and drops slightly, pointing up towards the sky. Two faces enter the frame, their lips meeting in a nervous but passionate kiss.

Their first meaningful kiss captured on film.

"Hey," Paige whispers close to his ear. He turns to her, obviously surprised. She brushes the side of her nose against his and pecks him on the lips. "I need your help," she murmurs, still very close to his mouth.

"With what?" he blushes and quickly shuts off the piece of equipment, trying to hide what he'd been watching.

Paige grins. "You're so cute when you blush." He flushes a brighter red. She kisses him again. "I need help with how to get to a real grocery store, with real food and alcohol and all that good stuff. No more twenty-four hour drugstores."

Mark flips on the light and picks up his coat and scarf from his bed. "Where'd you get money for food?" he asks.

"Collins lent some to me. He asked me to get a few things for him too."

They enter the living room. Roger has resorted to playing Musetta's Waltz again from lack of inspiration.

"Roger, I'm taking Paige to the market. You wanna come?" Mark invites. Roger puts down his guitar and stands.

"I'm going to die if I don't get out of this place," he replies. He picks up his leather jacket from the table.

"Did you take your AZT?"

"Yes," Roger groans. "I'm not two. I know what it means when my pager goes off." Mark sighs.

The three traipse down the stairs and cross the street to the nearest subway station. They stand waiting for the next train, shivering in the concrete-filled underground. One arrives after a few minutes, and they quickly jump inside to get out of the cold.

Arden's Market is four stops away. Snow is beginning to flurry around the glow of the street lamps when they exit the subway. They pull their coats tighter around their bodies and walk the block and a half.

An inviting smell hits them as they step inside the store. It is the smell of citrus and newly baked bread. After two weeks of nothing but stale cereal and peanut butter, Paige is in heaven.

"What was the stuff that Collins wanted you to get for him?" Mark asks. She pulls Collins' list out of her back pocket. Mark takes it and looks over it. "I can go get this stuff," he offers, "and you can get whatever you need. I'll find you when I'm done."

"Ok," she says. She and Roger grab a basket and start down an aisle. Mark heads to the other side of the store.

"Hey Paige?" Roger starts.

"Huh?" she responds. She grabs a few cans of soup off a shelf.

"How serious are you and Mark?" The question catches her off guard. She blinks a few times before she answers.

"I don't know, why?"

"Well," he begins again. He glances down the aisle, checking to see if Mark is nearby. "I don't know if Mark told you this, but Maureen was his last girlfriend."

Paige is visibly confused. "But Maureen's a lesbian."

"Now she is. She dumped him for Joanne."

"Ouch," she winces.

"It took him almost a year to really get over it." He pauses. "Basically I just want to keep him from getting hurt again. He's my best friend, and I hate seeing him unhappy."

Paige looks him directly in the eye and sees the concern etched in with the green. "I don't know where this relationship is going yet," she says, "but the last thing I want to do is hurt him." Roger smiles, some of the worry fading from his eyes. Paige hugs him, briefly but tightly. "You're a good friend, Roger. Mark's lucky to have you looking out for him."

**9:35 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

"Are you hungry?" Paige asks.

"A little," Mark responds. Paige walks to her kitchen cabinets and starts searching through them. He follows. She peeks into the fridge and pulls out some cheese slices. She grabs the bread off the counter and retrieves a frying pan. "What are you making?"

"Grilled cheese," she says. "It's easy and fast, and I'm starving." Her stomach growls a little to prove her point.

When the sandwiches are finished they sit on the kitchen counter to eat, because Paige still doesn't have a table. She doesn't realize that she's left the burner on, and when she moves to get off the counter after eating her food she touches it with her left hand.

"Ow!" she hisses, jumping and shaking her hand.

"What happened?"

"I burned my thumb," she grumbles. Mark jumps off the counter and takes her wrist. He leads her over to the sink and lets cold water run over the burnt appendage. Her thumb is bright red when he turns off the tap and looks at it.

"Does it feel any better?"

"A little." He kisses it as gently as possible. She winces slightly, but smiles. "Now it's much better."

He takes her chin between his thumb and finger and pulls her in for a kiss. She responds zealously, slipping her fingers through his belt loops and pulling his hips to hers. Encouraged by her actions, he slides his hands to her lower back, to the point where her shirt ends and her skirt begins. His fingertips graze her warm skin, slipping higher up her back and under the shirt.

They stumble to her room, shedding clothes as they go. Mark kicks the door closed behind them.

**January 10, 1991, 8:08 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige is startled awake by the sound of the phone ringing. No one has called since she moved to Alphabet City. She isn't used to the sound.

"Fuck," she whispers. She slides Mark's arm off her waist, holds the blanket up to cover her chest, and sits on the edge of the bed. "Hello," she says sleepily into the receiver, trying to stifle a yawn and failing.

"Hmm, sounds like someone didn't get much sleep last night," a familiar voice says gleefully.

"It's too fucking early, Reuben," she snaps softly. "Are you still in Chicago?"

"No, I'm home now. But I don't plan to stay long. I've got a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"Can't tell you yet. You'll just have to wait until I get there."

"When's that?"

"I should be there around one tomorrow. Go back to sleep, I'll see you then."

"Bye. Love you."

"Love you too, Paige. Bye." She hangs up the phone and yawns again.

Mark's eyes are open, blurry from sleepiness and confused without his glasses. Paige lies down again and whispers an apology for waking him. He pulls her closer, enveloping her in his warm arms. He kisses her lightly and closes his tired eyes to sleep once again. She follows his example.

**January 11, 1991, 1:12 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige waits on the steps of the building for her step-brother to arrive. He's late, as usual. She isn't worried, but her eyes keep darting up and down the street from anxiousness. She looks down at her frozen fingers. _I really need to buy a pair of gloves,_ she thinks. Her thumb now has a shiny pink burn from the other night. She smiles when she thinks of it.

The sound of a horn startles her, and she looks across the street to see her step-father's car. She can see boxes in the back seat, and a few are tied to the roof.

Reuben steps out of the car. Paige races across the pavement to hug him. He squeezes her so tight that she can't breathe. "How was Chicago?" she gasps.

He loosens his grip and looks her in the eye. "Windy," he says. She laughs.

"What are all the boxes for?" she asks.

"That's the surprise," he says, eyes twinkling joyfully.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" she begs, jumping up and down impatiently.

He chuckles. "I'm renting an apartment in SoHo," he reveals. "I got a job offer in the Financial District, and I accepted. I'm moving here!"

Her eyes light up. "You're moving to SoHo! That's so close! I'll get to see you all the time!"

"I know, isn't it great?" Reuben hugs her again.

"I can't wait for you to meet everybody!" she shrieks excitedly.


	6. Sick Days

Disclaimer: RENT, either movie or play, belongs to someone else. I am merely messing with it.

**February 19, 1991, 5:01 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige is stirring something in a large pot on the hot plate in Mark and Roger's kitchen. She hears the apartment door open and slam shut again.

"Roger?" she calls into the living room, not looking up from her cooking.

"Yeah?" he answers.

"Come here for a second, I need to talk to you."

She hears the soft thud of this guitar being set on its stand and the taps of his shoes on the wooden floor. He comes up behind her and peers over her shoulder. "Something smells good," he says. "What are you making?"

"Tomato soup, but it's not for you," she warns.

"Who's it for then?" he pouts.

"That's what I need to talk to you about." She puts the lid on the pot and turns to face him. "Mark threw up this morning."

"Is he ok?" Roger asks, clearly concerned.

"I'm pretty sure he just has the flu, and he should be better in a few days. But with him sick, and your current health status, I think you might have to stay with Mimi until he gets better."

"So basically you're kicking me out."

"Basically," she chuckles. "And since I'm likely to get it from him anyway, I'm going to camp out here and make sure he's ok."

"Do I have to go?" He sticks out his bottom lip like a child.

"Roger, healthy people die from the flu every year. What do you think it will do to you?"

He folds his arms across his chest and scowls. "Can I at least have some soup?"

Paige laughs. "It's not done yet, so go pack your clothes and stuff first. Then you can have some."

Roger smiles and pulls her into a hug before heading to his room. Paige continues cooking. He returns a few minutes later with a bag of clothes and his guitar case. He sets them on the table and sits on the counter by Paige. He looks worried. "Is Mark really going to be ok?" he asks.

Paige turns off the hot plate. "He'll be fine, don't worry," she says. "He'll probably be calling you guys all the time anyway, making sure you take your AZT." She pours half of the soup into a Tupperware bowl and snaps on lid. "Here, for you and Mimi," she says, handing it to him.

"You're the best, Paige." He jumps off the counter, kisses her cheek and leaves.

Paige pours some of the rest of the soup into a small bowl and takes it to Mark's room. She taps her knuckles lightly on the slightly open door. Mark is awake, although he looks as though he would rather not be.

She sets the soup on a crate by his bed and touches her wrist to his forehead. "Feeling any better?" she asks. Droplets of sweat cling to his temples, and Paige can feel that he has a fever.

"I feel like crap," he grumbles.

"The flu has a tendency to make people feel like crap," she teases. "Do you think you can eat something? And not throw it all up two minutes later?"

"Depends on the something."

She picks up the bowl and holds it in front of him. "My mom used to make it when I got sick."

Mark sits up and takes the bowl and spoon from her hands. He hesitates. She laughs. "I promise if you don't like it I won't be mad," she says. He tastes a spoonful. "What's the verdict?" she asks.

Mark tries to smile, but being sick makes it difficult. "It's good," he says. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," she says. She kisses his fever-warm forehead. "Just get better." He finishes the soup, hands her the empty bowl and lies back down. She stands to leave and stops in the doorway with her hand on the knob. "I'll be out on the couch, so just make some noise if you need anything." He nods weakly. She pulls the door shut.

**11:22 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige hears Mark stumble to the bathroom. A moment later she hears the telltale sound of puking, and the toilet flush. She gets up off the couch and waits outside the bathroom door. "Mark?" she calls through it.

He opens the door with his foot because the bathroom is small enough. He rinses his mouth out with water from the faucet and spits in the sink. Paige feels his forehead again; no change.

"Everything hurts," he mumbles as she helps him back into bed. She sits on the edge and pulls the blanket up to his shoulders.

"What hurts the most?" she asks.

"My head," he moans. He takes her hand and presses her cold fingers against his forehead.

Paige stands reluctantly, causing Mark to whimper from the loss of her cool hand. "I'll be right back," she promises.

She returns with two aspirin and a glass of cold water, which he takes gratefully. She lies down on the bed next to him and runs her fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes sleepily, but snaps them back open. "You shouldn't be in here," he says. "I'm going to make you sick too."

"I'll probably get sick anyway," she whispers. "I'm around you too much for my own good."

"I don't want to make you sick," he starts. She stops him with a hand over his mouth.

"Shhhh. Stop worrying about me, and just worry about getting better." Mark closes his eyes again, and falls asleep to the feel of Paige's hand in his hair.

**February 20, 1991, 10:20 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Mark watches Paige from the doorway of his room. She is sitting on the couch, leaning against the arm with her back to him. Her jet-black is sticking up strangely from sleep. She is fiddling with something in her hands, but he can't see what it is. He silently walks forward, picking up the edge of his blanket so it won't drag on the floor. He manages to get halfway across the room before he starts coughing.

Paige turns. Mark gives up his attempt to scare her and sits beside her on the couch. The coughing ceases. He looks up to see what she's doing.

She holds a pair of knitting needles in her hands, a long rectangle of black fabric being formed from them. "I didn't know you could knit," he says.

"I'm a woman of many talents," she grins. She sets her knitting down and looks him over. "You look better," she says. Some of his color has returned.

"I still feel like crap," he mutters.

She nods understandingly. "Roger and Mimi called earlier to see how you were feeling. They said to tell you they took their AZT." The corners of his mouth curve up slightly. "There's some soup left if you're hungry," she offers. "I can heat some up for you."

He nods and follows her to the kitchen. He eats the soup slowly, desperately trying to keep himself from throwing up later.

Paige can feel herself beginning to get sick. She feels her throat tightening, her stomach beginning to feel uneasy, her muscles aching and her head throbbing. She knows Mark has given her the flu. She takes some aspirin and tries to hide it.

**February 21, 1991, 2:47 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Mark's door is open. He can hear Paige coughing in her sleep on the couch. He tiptoes out into the living room. He shivers from the difference in temperature between the two rooms. The skylight still hasn't been repaired, and the wind blows cold air inside.

Paige's hair is plastered to her forehead by sweat. She shivers under her blanket. Her breathing is raspy, and her coughing seems to rattle in her chest.

He shakes her arm lightly. "Paige, wake up," he whispers. Her eyes take a moment to focus on him. "You're sick, you shouldn't be out here."

"I'm fine," she states.

"You're not fine," he argues. "You look worse than I did."

"I'm just tired. I just need some sleep."

Mark feels her forehead. She's burning up. He slips one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. He lifts her easily; she is awfully skinny for her height.

"I'm fine," she protests. "Put me down, I'm fine."

"You're freezing and you're sick. You need to sleep somewhere warmer." He carries her gently into his room and lays her on the bed. He wraps his blankets around her in addition to her own. He holds her close, feeling the chill of her skin touching his. Her shivering gradually ceases. They sleep.


	7. Sick Days B

Disclaimer: RENT isn't mine.

**February 23, 1991, 1:47 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

The phone rings. Mark is within arm's reach of it, but he makes no move to answer it. He and Roger have a common philosophy: if people really want to talk to them, then they'll leave a message. If they don't leave a message, it isn't important.

Mark is sitting with Paige's head on his thigh. He is running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. She is trying very hard not to think about the bowl of Captain Crunch she's just eaten. She believes that if she doesn't think about it she won't feel like throwing up.

The answering machine clicks on. "Hey Mark and Roger, this is Reuben. Um, I've been trying to call Paige and I was wondering if maybe she was with you-"

Reuben is interrupted when Mark picks up the phone. "Hey Reuben. Paige is right here; hold on a second." He hands the phone to her.

"Hi," she croaks.

"You sound awful," Reuben says.

She coughs a little to clear her throat. "I'm sick."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"Well, first Mark was sick and I was here making sure he was ok, and then I got sick and he won't let me leave."

"That sucks."

"I know."

Reuben chuckles a little. "Well I was calling to see if you guys wanted to go to lunch, but I guess that's out of the question."

"Roger's at Mimi's, you could go with them," she suggests.

"I'll give them a call. I hope you feel better soon," he says sincerely. "Maybe I'll stop by later and visit."

"Ok," she says. "I'll see you."

"Bye."

She hands the phone to Mark, who hangs it up. "I hate being sick," she moans.

He kisses her temple. "I know the feeling."

The phone rings again. For once Mark answers it before the machine. "Hello?…Oh hi Joanne…No, I'm fine, but now Paige is sick…Sure, I'll tell her…I haven't seen her…If she ends up over here I'll call you…Ok…See you later." He hangs up the phone and sighs.

"Did Maureen go out without telling her again?" Paige asks.

"Of course she did." He sighs a second time. "Joanne says she hopes you feel better." She groans in reply. "Why don't you go take a nap?"

"I'm afraid that I'll throw up if I move too much."

"You're just trying to get out of walking across the cold floor, aren't you?"

"Maybe," she smirks cheekily. He gives in and picks her up.

"You know, I'm only doing this because you're sick. You're going to have to walk on your own when you get better."

"That's what you think," she coughs.

He places her lightly on the bed and sits on the edge. She shivers slightly. The bed is cold. She pulls him down by the hand and crawls into his warmth. They lie there silently for several moments. Mark rubs her arm. Paige closes her eyes although she's not ready to sleep yet.

He pokes her side lovingly. "You are really small," he says.

She pokes him back. "You aren't very big either."

"I make up for it with personality."

They pause, listening to each other's breathing. Paige is beginning to feel drowsy. He snuggles closer to Mark and lets her eyes flutter closed again.

**6:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige wakes to find Mark missing and the sheets wrapped around her strangely. She must have moved around a lot in her sleep.

She glances at the window. The light streaming through it is a soft pink and orange color. It dances on the walls. The sun must be setting. _What time is it?_ she wonders. She picks Mark's watch off the crate and stares at it. _I must have been more tired than I thought. _

She sits up, and is instantly hit by a wave of nausea. Her stomach drops. She slaps a hand over her mouth and sprints to the bathroom, barely making it before she heaves up anything and everything she's eaten.

Two sets of hurried footsteps shuffle across the floorboards. Mark and Reuben appear in the bathroom doorway with concerned looks on their faces. Paige lies on the cold floor and looks up at them pitifully.

Mark crouches down next to her. He rubs her arm. "Hey baby," he says softly.

"Hi," she croaks.

"Can you stand up?"

"Maybe." He offers her a hand and pulls her up. She stands shakily before the sink and glances at herself in the mirror. "I look terrible," she says. Her eyes are red. He skin is pale and blotchy.

Mark scoops her up into his arms. He kisses her forehead. "You're beautiful," he whispers. He carries her into his room and covers her with his blankets. Reuben stands in the doorway, watching.

"Hey big brother," she says, her voice gravelly.

"Hey little sister," Reuben answers. He steps up to the bed. "I bought you some tea. Maybe if you're nice Mark will make some for you later."

She smiles, going along with his joke. "What are you talking about? I'm always nice to Mark. I'm only mean to you."

Reuben laughs quietly. He leans down and kisses her cheek. "Feel better, ok?" She nods, and he leaves the room.

Mark kisses her forehead. "I'll be right back," he says, and he follows Reuben out. Paige hears them talking for a minute, and then the door sliding open and closed. Mark reenters the room, kicks off his shoes and crawls under the blankets with her.

**  
February 25, 1991, 9:50 a.m. Eastern Standard Time: **

"Close on Paige, who doesn't have a fever for the first time in four days," Mark narrates, filming Paige as she drinks tea in the kitchen. She looks up at him and smiles widely before returning her attention to her mug. "…drinking tea which was bought by her brother and made by me," he continues, smirking.

She frowns at the camera which is obscuring Mark's face. "I didn't ask you to, you offered."

"I know, but it's fun to make you feel guilty."

"I bet you get that from your mother," she says.

"Bite your tongue," he retorts playfully. He turns off the camera and puts it on the table. "I don't want anything from that woman, let alone her talent at giving guilt trips."

She laughs, then finishes the last of the tea in her mug and places it in the sink with the other dirty dishes. She saunters into the living room and begins picking up her things from their various places around the apartment.

"What are you doing?" Mark asks.

"Getting my things together so Roger can live in his apartment again."

He steps up behind her and slips his arms around her waist. "Don't leave," he pleads.

She turns around so she's facing him, holding him close and resting her forehead on his. "Mark, I live downstairs. I'm not going that far away."

"Doesn't matter," he protests. "I like it better when you're here."

She kisses him. "You're sweet," she whispers.


	8. Packed Clinics and Rainy Nights

Disclaimer/Author's Note: Sorry, it's been a while. I own nothing. And a million props to my beta, guru and friend Fritzi Rosier (Love ya babe!) for showing me the horrible injustice I was doing to Mark; I was making him sound far too girly and weak, which is not him at all. I'd also like to mention that she and one of my paragraphs have eloped. Now on with the chapter.

**March 2, 1991, 1:12 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

Paige doesn't really knock on the loft door anymore. She's over too often to bother with the hassle of pounding on the metal and waiting for a response. It's much easier to just open the door herself. Either Mark or Roger is always home anyway.

Roger doesn't even look up from the frets of his guitar when she slides the door open. "Hey Paige," he says. He plays a few chords and scribbles something in the notebook in front of him.

Paige plops down on the couch next to him. "New song?"

He nods and plucks a few more notes before he sets the guitar down. "It still needs some work." He sighs and checks the cheap digital clock on the other side of the room. He frowns. "Mark went to the clinic to pick up my AZT. He said he'd be back a while ago."

On cue the door slides open. In walks a harassed looking Mark. He drops the prescription into Roger's lap and collapses into the gap between his best friend and his girlfriend. He buries his face into Paige's neck and moans exhaustedly.

"Was the clinic packed again?" Roger asks.

"Of course it was," Mark answers. "The entire population of Alphabet City is sick, apparently."

"They really need to hire more people," Roger says. His pager goes off. He opens the cap of the pill bottle and pops one in his mouth.

Paige rubs Mark's shoulder gently. "I've got something to tell you guys," she buzzes excitedly. Both turn to her and wait patiently for her news. "I got a job today."

Mark's mouth splits into a grin. He kisses her softly, lightly scraping his teeth on her lower lip before pulling away. "Where?" he asks.

"The Life needed another waitress."

Roger snickers. "You working at the Life. Weird."

"I know," she says, grimacing. "My first shift is at eight tomorrow morning. I haven't gotten up that early since high school." Mark smirks and tries to hide his amusement behind his hand, but Paige isn't fooled. She shoves him playfully. "Stop giving me that look," she says, but he doesn't listen. She shoves him again. "No one else will hire me, and I'm sick of borrowing money from Collins and Reuben." Mark continues to grin into his hand.

The three turn at the sound of the window creaking open. Mimi enters, allowing a gust of cold wind in with her. She closes the window quickly. "I hate winter," she says as she jumps down and walks around the couch. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion when she sees the three; Mark still unable to keep a straight face, Paige sending him annoyed glances, and Roger rolling his eyes at them. "What'd I miss?"

"I was just telling the guys," Paige pauses to shove Mark again, "that I got a job today."

"Oh really?" Mimi asks. "Where?"

"The Life."

"Better than nothing. Did you send your pictures to the Village Voice? I think they might need a photographer," Mimi suggests.

"I did, but they haven't called."

"Well at least you're working. That's better than these slackers," Mimi says, gesturing to Mark and Roger. Mark finally stops smirking. He and Roger share an indignant look.

"We work," Roger protests. "We just don't get paid for it."

Mimi sits down in his lap and grins. "You're cute when you're angry." She kisses his nose. "I'm going out to lunch, wanna come?"

"Let me get my jacket." She stands so he can get up off the couch, smoothing out her skirt and pulling at a thread on her sleeve. The air seems a little tense between Mark and Paige, and Mimi does her best to distract herself.

"Do you guys wanna come too?" she asks them. They shake their heads. Paige gives Mark's shoulder another shove. Roger returns from his room with his leather jacket and scarf. "I guess we'll see you later then," Mimi says.

The sound of the door closing echoes a little through the room. Outside a taxi blares its horn angrily. The couch springs squeak softly as Paige shifts her weight backwards to lean on the arm.

"I'm sorry I laughed," Mark apologizes. "I just can't imagine you waiting tables at the Life."

She bites her lip and tries to hold back a smile, causing him to become confused. "The only reason I took the job was that the owner said I could hang my photos on the walls. Otherwise I wouldn't wait tables no matter how much they paid me."

"Hey," he says, poking her side. "That's not fair. You made me think you were really upset about it."

She grins and stretches out on the couch, dropping her legs on top of his. "Hey, you were making fun of me. I would have a right to be upset about that if I didn't like kissing you so much."

"You're so weird."

"You're one to talk, _Pookie,_" she laughs.

"Oh no, you've been talking to Maureen." He pushes her legs off and leans down over her, propping himself up with his elbows. "I always hated that stupid nickname."

Paige resists the urge to use it again and instead enjoys the sensation of being pressed under Mark's weight. _With anyone else this would be uncomfortable,_ she thinks, _but with Mark this is exactly where I want to be._

Words get lost on her lips as Mark finally closes the gap between their bodies. He brushes his nose against hers, causing her skin to catch fire. Her eyes close languidly. She surrenders to his lips on hers; to his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth; to his hands, one in her hair and the other on her waist. She releases a moan from the back of her throat.

The door is thrown open. Roger enters, Mimi close behind. "Hey Mark?" he calls out. "I forgot my…." He trails off when he sees Mark and Paige's arrangement, half on and half off the couch. Roger smirks. "We leave you two alone for five minutes and you're already on top of each other."

**March 13, 1991, 10:56 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

"I can't believe how packed it was tonight," Paige says to Victoria, one of the other waitresses at the Life as they get ready to close. Victoria is clearing dishes off a table. Paige is erasing the chalkboards behind the bar and writing tomorrow's specials in multi-colored chalk. The cigarette-smoke-filled air is silent except for the occasional clinking of glass and words shared between the two. "I've never seen so many hungry people in the same room."

"I know. There was barely room to walk, let alone carry trays around," Victoria grumbles softly. "I almost spilled a tray of drinks on a little boy because the little jerk stuck his foot out when I walked by."

Paige laughs softly. "He would have deserved it."

"I know, but his parents looked like they would have killed me."

Paige jumps slightly at the sound of someone tapping on the glass at the front of the restaurant. She turns, the words "We're closed!" already forming on her lips, when she sees who is making the noise.

Winter decided to call it quits relatively early this year, taking away the snow flurries that usually last until nearly April and replacing them with rain. It has been raining for three days, with no visible end in sight. Outside the moisture has fogged up the windows, leaving an eerie glow from the street lights.

Mark is standing outside, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes flicking down the street and back to the window. He looks soaked, like he's been out too long.

"Hey Victoria, do you think you could finish closing up for me?" Paige asks.

Victoria looks up at the window and smiles knowingly. "Sure, don't worry about it."

Paige grabs her jacket from the counter and pulls it on as she unlocks the front door. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"You're soaked," she says to Mark over the noise of the rain hitting the pavement. He clothes are sticking to him oddly, and water is dripping off his nose and chin. "Why didn't you wait for me at home?"

Ignoring the fact that he's completely drenched, Mark closes the space between them, holding onto her as if the city were flooding. He kisses her mouth wetly, a little rougher than he normally would, and pulls away just enough to rest his chin on the top of her head.

The heavy rain that is still pouring from the sky is making Paige uncomfortable, as is the feeling of damp from Mark's clothes seeping into her own. But she realizes that whatever made Mark decide to wait for her is far more important than the dryness of her clothes. She clings to him just as tightly as he does to her. "Bad day?" she asks. He nods, still refusing to let her go.

By now Paige's clothes are just as soaked as Mark's. The rain shows no sign of letting up; in fact the storm seems to be worsening. A distant roar of thunder rumbles in the night sky. "Let's get out of the rain," Paige nearly shouts to be heard over the downpour. She feels Mark nod again and his hand slip into hers, slightly pulling her along for the two blocks toward home.

They leave behind a trail of wet footprints as they ascend the stairs. The storm continues to rage outside, the thunder much closer now. Paige pulls her keys out of her jacket pocket. They jingle noisily as she unlocks her door.

Lightning illuminates the street outside as Paige throws her keys on the counter inside her apartment. She peels off her wet jacket and walks to the bathroom, where she throws it into the bathtub. Mark stands in the doorway, still looking awkward and sullen.

"How long were you outside?" Paige asks.

"Maybe an hour."

She pulls him into the bathroom and tugs his jacket off, throwing it in the tub on top of her own. "What were you doing?"

"Mostly just walking around."

She sits on the edge of the tub and pulls off her wet shoes, throwing them into the corner. He sits next to her, and she begins picking at his laces until he pushes her hand away and pulls the shoes off himself.

"Do you want to tell me why today was a bad day?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "Ok," she says.

He gets up and walks to Paige's bedroom. She follows him and sits on the bed, watching as he pulls off his wet shirt. He picks up a dry shirt that's been left from another day and begins to pull it on, when Paige stops him.

She takes the shirt from his hands and drops it on the floor. She slides her hands up his arms to his chest, caressing his pale skin. He places his hands on her waist, pulling her close and capturing her lips with his own. His fingers find the hem of her shirt, and the two break apart just long enough for him to pull the damp fabric over her head.

Mark leads her backwards until her legs connect with the edge of the bed. They fall onto it, their lips never parting. More clothes are added to the pile on the floor. Sheets are twisted and smoothed away. Moans are coupled with sighs and heavy breathing and loving words. Bodies arc against each other in painful pleasure before relaxing into comforting embraces.

Paige stares into Mark's blue eyes as they lie back against the pillows. In them she sees the entire world's share of selflessness and hope. She sees what home and love are meant to be.

"I love you," she breathes. The words neither have yet said to each other, uttered by one but felt by both at once.

"I love you too," he answers.


	9. Homeward Bound

Disclaimer: I should tell you, I should tell you….I have never owned RENT….you can see it in my eyes.

**March 17, 1991, 9:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

"So are you planning on telling her before you leave?"

"Of course I am. Did you think I would just go without saying anything?"

"Well you've left it a little late."

"I know, but I'm not going to wake her up to tell her."

Mark and Roger whisper their conversation quietly on opposite ends of the couch. Paige is curled up on Mark's end, fast asleep after an exhausting shift at the Life. St. Patrick's Day is always crazy.

Roger still looks slightly unconvinced. "Roger, I promise when I leave tomorrow she will know where I'm going," Mark whispers.

For now this promise seems to be enough for Roger. He gets up off the couch and retreats to his room. Mark is very grateful; the next few days will be hard enough without Roger mad at him.

The loft is never entirely silent; no matter the time of day there is always a faint noise of traffic or construction or someone yelling, slipping in through the thin window panes and the cracks in the walls. Silence doesn't exist in New York City.

But Mark hears none of it. The only sound that fills his ears is Paige's soft breathing.

Roger is right, Mark knows that. He should have told Paige last week, when he first got the call. Hell, he didn't even need that stupid phone call to know he'd be leaving. Despite the fact that he and Roger barely own anything in this world, they do own a calendar.

Paige begins to stir in his arms, eyelids beginning to flutter. _Don't wake up yet,_ Mark prays silently. He's not ready to give her the bad news.

His prayers go unanswered this time. "Hey," Paige whispers groggily.

"Hey," he says, leaving a quick kiss on her lips. "How was work?"

She groans. "I have never seen so many drunk people in the same place."

"Did you at least get some good tips?"

"Surprisingly yes. It seems people are more willing to tip waitresses who bring them beer," she grins.

Mark laughs softly. "At least something good came out of it."

"Oh hey, I have the day off tomorrow. Wanna do something?"

This is the moment that Mark has been dreading. This is the point where he either has to lie or tell her he's leaving. And Mark's a terrible liar.

"Um, I kind of have to go out of town tomorrow."

Paige sits up and shoots him a confused look. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"Scarsdale."

"Care to explain that a little further?"

Mark takes a deep breath and plunges in. "Every year my mom calls and guilt-trips me into coming home for a few days for her birthday. Her birthday's the nineteenth, and she called last week."

"So you've known about this for a week, and you didn't tell me until today?"

"You're mad, aren't you?"

"I'm not mad," Paige says, standing and pacing a little. "I mean, you could've given me a little warning, since you've known for a whole seven days."

"You are mad," Mark says.

Paige sits down again. "Ok, yes, I'm a little mad. Honestly, you could have told me. I would understand."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I know you like going home even less than I do, and I hate it." She kisses his cheek lightly. "This was the bad day, wasn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Last week, when it was raining and you met me after work. That was the day your mom called, wasn't it?" Mark nods solemnly. Paige kisses him again. "When do you leave?"

"Bus leaves at noon."

"Well, we can still do something before then," she smiles.

**March 18, 1991, 6:06 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

As much as Mark would have liked, when Paige said they could do something before he leaves, she didn't mean sex.

Instead it means that Paige wakes him up early by pressing sweet, sexy little kisses to his neck and chin and the corners of his mouth. Mark is awake from the first touch of her lips to his skin, but he doesn't open his eyes. He's more than willing to pretend to be asleep for this kind of attention. "Mark," he hears her moan—that sexy moan from the back of her throat that sends a jolt straight through his stomach. "Mark, wake up," she whispers, focusing her attention on the point where he neck meets his jaw.

Mark begins to think that she's avoiding kissing his lips, and he starts getting impatient. Slowly he snakes his arms around her waist and pulls her down onto the bed. Paige lets out a yelp of surprise, and he grins, finally opening his eyes.

"You've been awake this whole time, haven't you?"

"Mmm hmm," he mumbles sleepily. He tugs on a strand of her jet black hair that's fallen out of her short ponytail and slips it behind her ear. He pushes himself up on an elbow and kisses her.

Something about her tongue or her hands on his chest causes Mark's brain to fracture, and he's no longer concentrating on anything but keeping his mouth connected with hers. He doesn't realize that she's slowly backing away because he keeps following. He doesn't feel the chill of the air in the loft because Paige's skin is so hot.

But all too quickly Paige pushes him away and closes the door. _Wait,_ Mark thinks. _How the fuck did I end up in the bathroom?_ He finds himself standing in the midst of a sea of cold ceramic tile with a towel in his hand.

"I don't hear water running," Paige calls through the door.

Mark throws his head back and groans. He strips off his wrinkled clothes and turns the shower on cold, trying to put out the fire Paige started between his legs. While he rubs shampoo into his hair he thinks about how unfair this situation is; Paige shouldn't be allowed to get him all worked up and then just stop and act as if nothing happened. She shouldn't have this kind of power over him.

Five minutes later he steps out of the shower to find clothes already laid out for him on the sink. _That sneaky little…_ he thinks with a smirk. He'd always suspected that she was really a ninja in disguise.

**8:03 a.m. Eastern Standard Time:**

"You still haven't told me where the hell we're going."

"And I don't plan to," Paige answers cheekily. "That would ruin the surprise."

The subway hits a curve a little too fast, and Mark almost loses his balance. He quickly grabs the handrail, before he can fall into the man standing behind him.

"Why is the subway so crowded today?" he asks.

"It's rush hour. People are going to work. You know, work? That thing people leave for early in the morning and come home from with money?" Mark feigns a hurt look. Paige kisses his cheek. "You know I love you."

"Do you love me enough to tell me where we're going?"

"You'll know when we get there. Come on, this is our stop," she says as the doors fly open. They push through the crowd and step onto the platform.

"Where are we?"

"How many times do I have to explain to you that this is meant to be a surprise?" She takes his hand and tugs him up the stairs before he has a chance to figure out where they are.

Unfortunately Paige couldn't hide their location forever unless she blindfolded him, and that is not the smartest thing to do on the streets of New York City, so once they were out of the subway Mark knew exactly where they were. "What the fuck are we doing in this part of town?"

Paige groans but doesn't answer. She just continues to pull him along, past the South Street Seaport and right up to the bridge.

"Paige, hold a second." Mark stops her when she doesn't stop going toward the bridge. "Are we walking to Brooklyn or something? 'Cause you know, the subway makes stops there. We could have taken a taxi even." He's trying to keep from laughing, but at the same time he's a little worried for her sanity.

"Mark, will you just trust me? We're not walking to Brooklyn. We're not even going that far over the bridge." She's giving him a pleading look, one that she has to know by now that he can't say no to.

She drops his hand and starts to run, and Mark has no choice really but to follow her. She stops after a few seconds, resting her hands on the railing and staring out over the side.

"So what's so important that you had to wake me up this early for?" Mark asks. Paige smiles and points to the east.

Mark's breath catches in his throat when he looks. The sun had already risen an hour ago, but the light has just now begun to stream through the spaces between all the high-rise buildings. The rays leave bands of gold in their wake, ending on the glittering surface of the East River.

Mark can't believe he's lived here for nearly four years and never seen this. He wishes he'd brought his camera, so he could have proof that beauty like this really exists in New York.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Paige asks. Mark doesn't trust his voice enough right now to answer, so he just nods slowly. He hears her laugh and feels her arm curling around his waist. "I thought if you saw this, it would be easier to get survive being around your family for a few days. And maybe it would be like an incentive to come back."

Mark finally finds his voice. "I don't need this as an incentive to come back." He turns to her and sees the slight worry on her face. "You're all the reason I need."

He covers her lips with his, starting a kiss without all the lust and heat that a lot of their kisses contain. This one is soft and chaste. It's Mark showing Paige how much he loves her, telling her that he won't stay away for long.


End file.
